


Printer Perfect

by ThereBeWhalesHere



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Bottom Hank, Established Relationship, Fluff, Humor, Ken Doll Android Anatomy | Androids Have No Genitalia (Detroit: Become Human), M/M, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Size Kink, Smut, implied bottom Hank, kind of, wireplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-13 04:53:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18025061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThereBeWhalesHere/pseuds/ThereBeWhalesHere
Summary: Hank didn't really think his life would turn out like this. Dating an android, sure; he's dated far weirder. Fucking an android? Only because he loves Connor so damn much. But taking his android boyfriend to the black market to customize his first penis? That ... that's unexpected. And, alright, pretty fucking uncomfortable.





	Printer Perfect

**Author's Note:**

> Listen, I love sexually confident Hank headcanons, but I also love unable-to-speak-about-sex-without-dying-internally Hank headcanons. This one is the latter. 
> 
> The character of Tabs was based almost entirely on my wife, who also supplied much of her dialogue! Basically everything funny in this fic can be credited to her, haha! Love you, Shnookums. Thanks for the encouragement!

The chain-link gate complained on its hinges as Hank shoved it open, its prongs scraping at the ground and dragging lines in the wet grime collected on the asphalt. He wrinkled his nose at the litter-strewn alleyway beyond, all-too aware of the odor of weeks-old garbage rotting in an abandoned dumpster nearby, and all-too tired of the deluge of spring rain to suffer it for another second.

 

But it was falling in sheets today from a roiling gray sky, and after only a short jog from the parked car across the street to the alley’s gate, he was already soaked down to the bone. “Gross,” he muttered, stepping over a puddle and holding open the gate for Connor to follow.

 

Unfazed by the rain, as he was unfazed by most human discomforts, Connor tugged his jacket straight and stepped gracefully over the worst of the wet, giving Hank one of those frequent but no-less precious sideways smiles. “I apologize for the location,” Connor said, as if it were his fault. “Needless to say, Miss Banks doesn’t conduct her business out in the open.” 

 

“Yeah, I’d guess not,” Hank said, hiking up the collar of his coat and nodding for Connor to lead the way. He shoved his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders against the rain, trudging reluctantly after his partner.

 

The largely abandoned warehouses in this district shielded them from the worst of the wind, but Hank still felt exposed, casting furtive glances to busted-out windows where shadows of vermin skittered past shards of glass clinging to their broken panes. It'd be a good place to stage an ambush, yet here Hank hadn't even brought his gun. Not that he needed reason to be nervous about  _ that _ , he reminded himself. There was plenty else about this errand to cause him worry.

 

“What do we know about this ‘Miss Banks,’ anyway?” He asked, forcing his attention back to Connor.

 

Connor’s LED cycled yellow as he accessed the information. “Tabitha Banks, born July 22, 2008 in Detroit. No criminal record. Nothing official, anyway.” He gave Hank a smile and a wink before continuing. “She’s a former CyberLife employee, fired three years ago for being ‘too willful.’”

 

“So she left a long time before CyberLife went under,” Hank mused, unsure if that little fact made her illegal practice of making bootleg biocomponents more or less palatable. Granted, plenty of hobbyist android engineers had stepped up to supply the demand since the revolution, after CyberLife lost the public’s trust and funding, but Hank’s sources said Miss Banks had been operating out of this back alley for years. 

 

Connor’s shoes gritted on loose pebbles of asphalt as he came to a halt, and Hank looked up from the puddle-dimpled ground. They stood now before a thick steel door, green paint chipping away at its edges and scratched with years of graffiti -- names, initials, phone numbers all carved into its surface. It bore a single sliding panel around eye-level, like an old-fashioned speakeasy. Hank shifted on his feet. 

 

“This it, then?”

 

“This is it,” Connor confirmed. With a look over his shoulder, Connor smiled so brightly Hank was pretty sure it stopped the rain and broke through the clouds for all of a blissful second.  “Are you having second thoughts?” he asked, and Hank couldn’t stand the teasing tone of Connor’s voice. Goddamn but this kid knew how to get him to do anything. 

 

“No,” Hank said, shrugging. “Just, you know, couple’a detectives going to the black market for a -- for  _ parts _ . Doesn’t seem right.”

 

“Hank, you gamble illegally all the time. And lose. For once you’re actually going to get something in return for your money.”

 

Hank snorted at the petulance in Connor’s voice. And the fact that he was right. Truth was, it wasn’t the illegality that made him uncomfortable. It was more the entire reason they were there.

 

“Well, she’s apparently the best of the best -- for a hobbyist,” Hank said, rubbing his forehead. “If we're gonna do this, at least we're doing it right. Let’s just get it over with, okay?”

 

Connor didn't waste a moment before leveling a few hard knocks to the steel. Hank tightened his jaw at the metallic echo under Connor’s fist, loud and booming under the heavy rain. “We’ll be fast, I promise,” Connor said. “I already sent her some preliminary specifications.”

 

“You -- wait,  _ what _ ?” But before Connor could answer, the speakeasy grill slid open to reveal a set of large blue eyes, sharp and intent behind a pair of horn-rimmed glasses. 

 

The three of them stood in silence for a moment, while those eyes sized up Connor, narrowing suddenly in suspicion when they landed on Hank. “You got a warrant?” a woman’s voice snapped from inside, presumably Miss Banks herself. Hank glanced to Connor in his nondescript blazer and jeans, then down at his own casual clothes. No badge in sight. He was about to ask how she knew they were cops when Connor leaned in toward the open panel.

 

“Hello, Miss Banks. My name is Connor, and this is Hank. We have an appointment.” 

 

Her eyes widened behind her spectacles, lenses gleaming silver in the afternoon rain. “Oh! Connor -- RK800 model, right?” Connor nodded. A gust of wind blew past, chilling Hank to his bones. Somewhere above them, thunder rumbled, and Hank almost winced at the immediate crash of lightning that lit up the steely gray of the sky.

 

This was a bad idea. He was about to suggest a retreat when Miss Banks spoke again, her words cutting through Hank like a knife. “You’re here to get yourself a dick?”

 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

 

“And you're his boyfriend then,  _ Hank _ ?” Her eyes, now crinkled in what looked to be a smile, had turned toward Hank.

 

Hank's face flushed, and he glared at what little he could see of Miss Banks. “Can we talk about this inside?” he asked through gritted teeth.

 

“Alright, well, what are you waiting for, then. Get out of that rain,” Miss Banks said, and she slid the grill shut. A few loud clunks came from behind the door, and in a moment she yanked it open with a grating grind of metal on concrete. Holding it steady with her shoulder, she looked up at them both, a grin spread wide over her freckled face. She had a petit, almost wiry frame, and messy brown hair tied up in a haphazard bun. Taking her all in, Hank could  _ swear _ he’d seen her somewhere before, but he was drawing a blank. 

 

“I never would’ve guessed in a million years I’d see  _ you  _ walking through my door,” she said gleefully, demeanor entirely changed. “Lieutenant  _ fucking _ Anderson!” 

 

Hank blinked, squinted. “Uh, yeah?” he said cautiously. “Have we--”

 

“You know each other?” Connor asked, his tone much like hers, too bright and cheery for the downpour they were currently --  _ still _ \-- standing in. 

 

“The good Lieutenant here sent me to juvie when I was 13,” she said, and to Hank’s immense displeasure, she tossed a good-natured fist at his shoulder. “Changed my life! I mean, I still did  _ crime _ , obviously,” she waved her hand around to indicate the incredibly shady alleyway, “but I got  _ way _ better at hiding it. Nice to see you again, Lieutenant.” For all the world, she sounded like she meant it. She turned to Connor, then, even as Hank was still searching his head for something, anything, to say to  _ that _ . “And, you! Connor, was it? Pleasure to meet you.” Connor gave her an undying grin and held out his hand. She took it in both her own and flopped it about like a live fish.

 

“Nice to meet you Miss Banks,” Connor said politely. 

 

Blowing a raspberry, she tossed Connor’s hand back at him. “‘Miss Banks,’ ha! We’re about to get  _ really _ intimately acquainted. Please, call me Tabs.”

 

“Wait,” Hank said, drudging through his memory for her case. “Wait, that wasn’t your name, was it? Tabs, Tabitha Banks? Weren’t you a Julia or--” 

 

She turned to him and winked. “Like I said. Got better at hiding. Now come on inside you two, I’m  _ so _ excited I get to custom-build  _ your _ boyfriend’s dick, Lieutenant.”

 

Connor beamed, and he held out a hand to Hank, his face open and warm. Hank would be a monster to reject such an invitation. With a world-weary sigh, he took Connor’s hand and threaded their fingers together, stepping up beside him through the door.

 

“Why’s it matter whose dick it is?” Hank asked, shooting Connor a worried look that the android most definitely did not see as they trailed behind Tabs into a poorly lit industrial hallway. 

 

“I’ve been fucked by the law my whole life. Now, I get to help fuck you. It’s kind of poetic, isn’t it?”

 

Face reddening further without his permission, Hank stiffened, more infuriated by Connor’s musical little laugh than he was embarrassed by their conversation. Connor, who couldn’t understand a damn sexual innuendo only six months ago, now laughing at one at Hank’s expense.

 

Hank knew when he woke up this morning that this was going to be a shitty day.

 

The hallway’s cold concrete flooring stretched seemingly forever, lit only by some flickering fluorescent lights up on the ceiling, a whole track of them with most bulbs long blown out. Hank supposed he should have expected an old warehouse to suffer a bit of disrepair, and he stopped himself from grumbling about it as they walked on, wet shoes squelching on the floor. 

 

“So how long have you two been together?” Tabs asked genially ahead of them. Connor squeezed Hank's hand. 

 

“Nearly six months,” he said with a soft smile cast at Hank.

 

“And you're only now getting a set of genitals? Either you two move slow or you're  _ way _ more creative than my other clients. Now don't get me wrong, being a lesbian I know better than most that you don't need all the bells and whistles to have a good time, but Connor, your model can’t even  _ orgasm _ .”

 

Connor didn't seem to see Hank's pleading expression, because he spoke as casually as if they were discussing the weather. “That  _ has _ been inconvenient, but I like bringing Hank to climax with my hands and mouth. Hank likes being fingered and using toys, and -- what was that term, Hank?”

 

Hank closed his eyes for patience. Connor damn well remembered the term, and Hank could tell when he was being teased, but Connor went on before Hank could even begin to stop him.

 

“Thighfucking! That’s it.” Connor said with an air of eureka. “And, for my part, I have some sensitive wiring that's proved stimulating enough.”

 

“Connor,” Hank groaned, “You don't have to tell her all that.”

 

“No, no,” Tabs put in, waving an unconcerned hand over her shoulder. “This helps, really! I like to customize upgrades to fit people’s preferences. And, trust me, I’ve been making biocomponents for so long, nothing surprises me anymore. You two are  _ tame _ compared to what I’ve seen.”

 

Hank rubbed his head with his free hand, not even looking up as Connor nudged him gently with his shoulder. 

 

“Come on, Hank,” he said. “Sex is a natural part of life. No need to be embarrassed about what you like.”

 

Before Hank could respond -- though he had a few choice words to say about airing their laundry, dirty or otherwise, in front of a stranger -- Tabs’ sneakers squeaked to a halt on the floor and she clapped her hands so loud it echoed up and down the long hall. 

 

“Alright,” Tabs said authoritatively as Connor and Hank drew up beside her outside another solid steel door. “This is my office. Mind the wires, don’t trip on anything, don’t bother the parrots, and especially don’t touch any of my printers, alright? They’re churning out some specialized parts right now.”

 

She shouldered open the door, revealing a room only barely better-lit than the hallway, everything bathed in the blue glow of far too many computer screens and a few cylindrical 3D printers tucked off in the corner, humming away so loudly they drowned out the sound of droning rain on the metal roof. A potted jungle of houseplants -- succulents, cacti, bamboo -- made their perches on high shelves, or tucked behind messes of wires and biocomponents on tables that were overloaded and bowed in the middle. On the other side of the room, two African gray parrots sat perched on the leafy branch of a potted maple tree. LED’s cycled blue beside their eyes -- androids, then. Almost certainly stolen from the CyberLife Zoo when it closed down. They didn’t make so much as a peep as the door clanged shut.

 

Hank took it all in almost nervously. He wasn’t sure what he thought a bootleg android engineer's “office” would look like, but this was definitely the lair of some kind of mad scientist. 

 

A mad scientist who he’d put in juvenile detention once. A mad scientist who held his sex life in her tiny, tiny hands. He swallowed nervously and Connor tightened his grip around his hand before releasing it with a little, reassuring smile. 

 

“Nice place you have here, Tabs,” Connor said sweetly, and Hank almost rolled his eyes. Sometimes Connor spoke like he’d pulled phrases out of  _ How to Sound Human 101 _ . “I see you’re assembling biocomponent #38965v on that printer over there.”

 

“Good eye,” Tabs said with a grin as she headed over to her desk, only distinguishable from the rest of the surfaces covered in old android parts because two chairs sat before it and one behind. She tucked herself behind the desk’s massive computer monitor, her whole face blue through the screen’s transparent back. Connor approached and took a seat without a hint of worry, but it took Hank a few reluctant seconds to follow.

 

When he did settle into his rickety folding chair, Tabs clicked her tongue with an air of disapproval. “You two are soaking wet,” she said in a motherly sort of tone. “Here.” Ducking below their line of sight, she seemed to dig around in one of her desk drawers, emerging a moment later with what looked to be a beach towel in her hands -- bright pink and printed with smiling rubber ducks.

 

She held it out over the desk. “Dry off a little, if you don’t mind. One short circuit and this whole place could go up in flames.” She let out a high-pitched giggle, and Hank took the towel somewhat gingerly. He squeezed his hair out into it, taking a moment to towel down the rest of his body before handing it to Connor to do the same. His jeans still clung wet and cold to his thighs, but at least he wasn’t dripping on anything.

 

“So,” Tabs said, typing something as she squinted at her screen. “Let me pull up your specs. You already ordered the standard anus and colon combo, complete with prostate -- that’s right?”

 

“Yes,” Connor said. Hank tried his damndest not to look as uncomfortable as he felt. It didn’t exactly work. “And you added the sensitivity control I ordered?” 

 

“Sure did,” Tabs said, and something that looked like an invoice popped up on her screen. Hank couldn’t read it backwards, but he recognized Connor’s signature -- in perfect CyberLife sans font. “That’s a good choice. Very popular. Glad you came here in person to customize the penis, though. You don’t want to walk out of here with some  _ standard _ upgrade. No, no, every cock should be its own personalized work of art.”

 

She shot them a smile, and Hank’s cheeks burned. He figured he might as well just walk out right now unless he wanted to overheat all her machines by sheer proximity. “Let’s just get something normal, Con,” Hank said, arms crossed heavy over his chest. “You don’t gotta go all out.” 

 

“Hank, this is my  _ first _ penis,” Connor said, exasperated. “I want it to be perfect.” 

 

“Perfect’s what you’re getting,” Tabs chirped. “I can promise you that. Now, let’s just start with this here --” she tapped something on her keyboard and an anatomically sound 3D model of a thick cock, balls included, popped up on her screen. Hank nearly choked on his own tongue.

 

“Jesus Christ, Connor you’re not getting that one are you? It’s  _ huge _ .” The grid proclaiming the member’s measurements made Hank hot at his collar. That would look so ridiculously out of place on Connor’s narrow frame -- there was no way.

 

“That’s -- Hank that’s  _ your  _ penis,” Connor said. “I sent her your measurements as a starting point.”

 

Hank’s eyes widened and he glanced down to his lap as if that trouser dragon might just rear its ugly head right here. “Mine?” He asked, and blinked, turning his eyes back to Connor’s. “You’re sure?”

 

Connor just leveled a look at him, and Tabs chuckled, taking up a mug of tea she had set beside her screen. 

 

“I hope you got a permit for that, Lieutenant,” she said, lifting the mug in mock toast before taking a sip. Though Hank was fairly certain he couldn’t get much redder than this, his face made a damn fine show of it. 

 

“Well shit,” Hank huffed, shuffling straighter. “Mine or not, you don’t want it that big, do you Con?”

 

“This is just a starting point,” Tabs put in. 

 

“I wanted a frame of reference to base mine off of,” Connor added with a little smile. He put a hand on Hank’s thigh, giving him a brief squeeze. “I  _ like  _ your penis.”

 

Sometimes Connor just said shit like that. Six months they'd been together, since the day after the revolution, and God, Hank hadn't gotten used to it yet.

 

Tabitha set down her tea with a little thunk. “So, we going bigger or smaller?”

 

“Bigger,” Connor said immediately, and Hank blinked.

 

“What?” 

 

Tabs clicked a few buttons, and the cock on the screen lengthened, twisted to show a different view, and thickened. 

 

“How’s that?”

 

“Bit longer.”

 

Click click click. “How about now?”

 

Connor gave a thoughtful little  _ hmm _ , tapping his chin. “Can we make it thicker?”

 

Click click click. Hank’s eyes were growing so wide they hurt, watching that dick swell right there on the screen. There was  _ no fucking way _ .

 

“How about now? You could pedal a bike with that thing, that's for sure.” 

 

“You think so? I think we could go a size up. Just a bit thicker please, Tabs.”

 

“Woah there, cowboy!” Hank snapped, surging forward and laying a hand flat on Tabs’ desk as if that might actually stop her. “Hold on just a second.” 

 

Connor glanced at him, a little bemused smile on his face. “What’s wrong, Hank?”

 

“That is  _ not  _ going to fit.” Hank tossed his hand at the screen, ignoring the heat crawling up his cheeks and only hoping the blue light of the screens might mask his embarrassment. He hadn’t been fucked in years aside from the dildos he and Connor used sometimes. And none of them held a candle to the monster on the screen right now.

 

“It may take some preparation to fit in your anus,” Connor conceded, eyes falling longingly to the screen. “But your mouth --”

 

“Nope!” Hank leaned forward around the screen and touched the corner, using his finger to scale the size down. Tabs swatted him away, barking something like “hey,” but the blood was rushing through his ears too loud to hear her. Hank flopped back on his chair, slapping his thighs. “We are getting a normal-sized, human penis, alright? I scaled that to four inches. Perfectly average.”

 

“Come on, Hank,” Connor said with a cajoling little whine, and Hank shifted his eyes over to him. There was a definite note of consternation between Connor’s brows, but the effect was somewhat lessened by the fluffy pink towel still sitting in his lap. “We’re spending all this money, and I think I deserve to get the exact penis that  _ I _ want.”

 

Hank tightened his lips, crossed his ankle over his knee, and crossed his arms over his chest. Resolute. 

 

Connor sighed. Hank damn well knew Connor didn’t even need to breathe; the sigh was just to tell Hank in no uncertain terms that they’d be talking about this outburst later. 

 

Hank didn't want to admit to pouting, but he may have been doing something similar.

 

“We can come back to the size,” Connor said finally, when he realized Hank wasn't going to speak. He turned back to Tabs. “Does the vibrate function cost extra?”

 

“A bit,” Tabs answered with a shrug. “But for my favorite cop I could shave a little off.” She tossed Hank a wink. “You had better use it right, though. I want you to come back here and tell me you made him come screaming, you hear me? Only satisfied customers under this roof.”

 

Connor laughed, and a vague sense of horror and overwhelm rose steady in Hank’s chest.

 

“Deal. Add the vibrate function, please. How about the flavor filter?”

 

“The  _ what _ ?” Hank asked, momentary vow of silence broken as he sat up straighter.

 

“Hank, did you not read  _ any _ of the materials I sent you? Tabs has a very informative catalog.” 

 

“No, I didn’t,” Hank said defensively. “I thought we’d walk in here, tell her we needed a dick, and walk right back out. How was I supposed to know there were vibrate functions and flavor filters? Jesus fucking Christ.” 

 

He was going to have a heart attack. Right here. Connor and his new best friend were going to kill Hank in this dingy room and he was going to die without even having had a chance to enjoy the cock he died  _ for _ .

 

“You would’ve known if you’d read the catalog,” Connor supplied a little less than helpfully. 

 

“Lieutenant,” Tabs said, leaning forward with her chin resting on her folded hands. “This is a great opportunity. You can make your boyfriend’s cum taste like anything you want! Come on, what do you want? Cotton candy? Orange dream?”

 

“Pineapple passion,” Connor put in before Hank could even wrap his mind around the concept of flavored cum. “It’s his favorite.”

 

“Didn’t take the detective here for a tropical guy,” Tabs said with a sideways smile. “I thought he’d want something manly like tobacco or pine.” 

 

Hank wrinkled his nose. The only thing that sounded worse than flavored cum was _ pine _ -flavored cum. “I’ll take the fucking pineapple, thanks.”

 

Taking a second, Tabs tapped some order instructions into her computer, the screen with the dick itself blessedly minimized for the time being. Hank took the opportunity to glance to his side, where Connor was watching him with a sweet little smile. He reached out and placed a hand on Hank’s thigh, soft and soothing, and Hank begrudgingly laid his own hand over Connor’s. Goddamn, but he’d do anything for this perfect hunk of plastic. 

 

“Okay,” Tabs said, sitting up and shoving her glasses farther up her nose. “So, regarding added charges: we’re looking at the optional vibrate function and flavor filter in pineapple passion. I also adjusted the curve of the penis based on your earlier specs regarding the location of the lieutenant's prostate, so this thing is going to feel fucking  _ phenomenal _ .” She lifted her eyebrows suggestively at them, and Hank stopped himself from asking how she  _ got _ the exact location of his prostate. Though Connor  _ did _ seem to enjoy scanning every inch of Hank that existed. Apparently internally, too.

 

“So have we settled on an average size, then?” Tabs asked, and she had the gall to sound disappointed.

 

“No, no,” Connor said quickly, removing his hand from Hank’s and shuffling forward in his seat. “My apologies, something must have gotten lost in translation. Bigger than average, please.” 

 

“Babe,” Hank groaned, dropping his head back. “If you ever want to stick that thing in my ass, you’re getting something that’ll fit, you hear me?”

 

Connor turned slowly to him, a half a smile on his lips -- it looked devious. “Are you saying you can’t handle me, Hank?”

 

If Hank were a smarter man, he’d recognize that as bait. 

 

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Hank said, but Connor shook his head.

 

“No, no I understand. What’s the phrase? ‘You can dish it out but you can't take it?’”

 

Hank blinked at him. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

 

Connor shrugged, shaking his head again and crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back in his seat. “I'm just saying, you expect me to bottom, when you  _ just _ admitted how large your penis is, and you can’t even do the same for me? I’m disappointed, Hank.”

 

The heat in Hank’s cheeks flared, but he didn’t back down. “Hey, I never said that,” Hank growled. “I  _ could _ take it. I’ve taken dicks  _ twice _ that size. But you don't  _ need-- _ ”

 

“Good. Then let’s double it,” Connor said in icy challenge, eyes snapping toward Hank, though it was clear the order was meant for Tabs. Delightedly setting her tea to the side, Tabs enlarged the penis on the screen -- scaling it from four inches to eight. Hank barely even saw it in his periphery, focused on Connor’s eyes, narrowed like he’d won.

 

“Could you take that, Hank?” Connor asked, voice low. He nodded toward the screen and shifted, facing Hank. “Or are you too delicate?”

 

“I could take that and  _ more _ . Add a fuckin’ inch if you're so damn cocky,” Hank growled. 

 

“How about two?” Connor asked, leaning forward. Hank leaned toward him in turn, a sneer on his lips. 

 

“Fine.  _ Add two _ . I might be old, but I ain’t made of glass.”

 

“And thicker? How much  _ can _ you take,  _ Lieutenant _ ?” Connor purred his title, the sound going straight southward. 

 

“Thick as you fucking like, Con.” He grit the words through clamped teeth, pleased to see Connor’s eyes darkening, his own smile turning near predatory. 

 

Somewhere outside his circle of attention, Tabs let out a little sigh, the first reminder that, yes, someone else existed in this room. Hank didn’t bother looking at her, though, determined not to be the first of them to back down.

 

“So we’re back up to ten inches,” Tabs said. “You sure this is alright? I mean, judging by the fact you’re red as tomato soup I’d say you’re liking this more than you’d let on, but--”

 

“It’s fine,” Hank interrupted, eyes hard on Connor’s as they glinted with something like victory, though Hank had  _ obviously _ won here. “It’s fucking  _ perfect _ . Print it, box it. We’ll take it. I can’t  _ wait _ to take that cock.”

 

“Good,” Tabs said, and Connor leaned back out of Hank’s personal space, his smile spreading. “It’s printing now. Wait a few minutes and you can take it home, hook it up tonight and go at it.” Tabs leaned back in her seat, and Hank finally, triumphantly returned his attention to their helpful supplier. “I like him, lieutenant,” Tabs added, nodding to Connor. “He's got ambitions. They might kill you, but you'll die with a smile on your face.”

 

And only then did Hank realize what the fuck he had just agreed to. The dick stared out at him from the screen, its head reared and swollen. His eyes fell to the numbers on the grid and he swallowed. He swore he could  _ feel  _ the color drain from his face.

 

Fuck. 

 

“You -- you played me, Connor,” he choked out.

 

“Like a fiddle, Hank,” Connor said sweetly.

 

“Now, a note of warning,” Tabs went on, swiveling in her seat toward Connor, Hank barely paying attention as he faced down the prospect of getting fucked by a ten-inch dick as thick as a goddamned soda can. “When you hook up the synthetic nerves to your new penis, expect a pretty violent reaction. I’ve heard folks say it was, uh,  _ explosive _ . Back arching, screaming, the whole deal. Clear the area of valuables and maybe -- Hank -- stand back. Unless you just wanna sit in front of him with your mouth open -- get a taste of that pineapple passion.”

 

She winked again, and Hank blinked at her, dumb and silent. Nothing she had said had registered quite yet.

 

“And, Connor?”   
  
“Yes, Tabs?”

 

“I  _ do _ like you. You’re like a spring basket full of puppies. Why don’t you keep my number and you let me know if you ever want to make any adjustments. I’m talking sensitivity, refractory period, you name it, right?”

 

Connor’s face bore an easy smile. “Thank you, Tabs. I think. What exactly does ‘spring basket full of puppies’ mean?”

 

“It means you’re cute,” she said, smacking a key on her keyboard. One of the 3D printers in the corner leapt alive at the command, its whir adding to the room’s cacophony as the birds chirped and flapped on their perch. Her eyes flicked over to Hank, and her little smile grew. “And  _ you’re  _ cute, in spite of yourself, Lieutenant. Maybe more like an old stray schnauzer that rolled off a dump truck, but still. Cute.”

 

Hank had no idea what to say to that, but he was damn well going to say something, wasn’t he? He sat forward in his chair, raised a finger, and opened his mouth to -- to what? Protest maybe?

 

But Connor’s hand on his thigh stilled him. “He  _ is _ cute,” Connor agreed. “I’m very lucky.” 

 

The little admission struck Hank speechless, and he dropped his finger, turning to Connor. “Con, you can’t just say things like that,” he said, in much the same tone as when he told Connor not to air their sex lives.  _ This _ was personal, too. Connor beamed at him, but Tabs snorted as she stood to check on her printer. 

 

“After you get this thing installed, Hank’s gonna be the lucky one,” she said with a little chuckle.

 

Ire fading, Hank’s expression softened without his permission. Goddamn, but he couldn’t control what Connor did to him. He never could. He gripped Connor’s hand. “I already am,” he said gruffly, trying not to look too besotted at the sweet smile Connor gave him in return, the way it pulled such human-like lines into the corners of his warm, brown eyes. 

 

* * *

 

Connor stripped swiftly once they made it to the bathroom, a look of quiet delight on his face as his LED cycled yellow -- anticipation, most likely. In spite of the fact they had left Tabs’ office with the biggest synthetic penis Hank had seen since he stopped visiting sex shops, he couldn't help a rush of fondness for his boyfriend, then. Connor looked like a kid at Christmas, and goddamnit if Hank wasn’t at least a little happy for him.

 

As Connor stepped out of his jeans and folded them neatly to place on the closed lid of the toilet, Hank took one last look at the smooth plane of flesh between his legs. It had presented such a daunting challenge when Hank had first seen it, hard as a rock himself and only at that moment realizing that his new lover might be more complicated to figure out than he expected. But he had come to appreciate all of Connor over the last few months, lack of recognizable genitals or not. He would come to appreciate this, too.

 

But not before Connor did, of course. 

 

“Hank,” Connor said, and Hank's eyes shot up to Connor's. There was a smile playing over his lips. “Ready?”

 

“Yeah,” Hank said, shaking his head. “Yeah, alright, get in the tub, then.” He waved a dismissive hand and retrieved their two boxes from where he'd set them by the bathroom door. Sumo scratched at the doorframe, poking his nose under the gap and huffing, but Hank ignored him. The dog might like to interrupt them having sex whenever he pleased, but this was decidedly more delicate than their usual wireplay.

 

In one box, a complicated mess of tubes and wires comprised what would be Connor’s back door, once they got to installing it. But Hank set that one aside, going for the other box instead. The whole point of their visit today. Sitting in a nest of decorative tissue paper, it looked almost as innocent as a dildo, albeit a large one. Hank couldn’t quite imagine what it would look like once Connor screwed it on and covered it with his skin. Tabs had said as they’d left that she had added options for personalization. Connor could cover it in freckles and moles and whatever else he wanted. In spite of its size, Hank was looking forward to that. Right now it looked plastic, fake, clinical.

 

And fucking _ huge _ .

 

“Alright,” Hank said, approaching the bathtub. Connor was already in it, leaning back against the porcelain, arm hanging casually along its edge with his legs spread wide. “You hold this. I'm gonna try not to fuck this up.” Hank shoved the open box into Connor’s lap and pulled the elastic tie from his wrist, sweeping his hair into a quick ponytail. The tablet he had discarded on the ground earlier stared up at him with its instructions and he sighed, picking it up and reading through them one more time. This was worse than fucking IKEA.

 

“I  _ am _ sorry I can't do this on my own,” Connor said. “It's … inconveniently placed.”

 

“Like I'd let you do this on your own,” Hank scoffed. “You're damn well having your first orgasm with me, complicated instructions or not.”

 

When he glanced up from the tablet, Connor was beaming. “Thank you, Hank,” he said softly. It sounded so damn sincere, it almost threw Hank for a loop, but Connor was always sincere when he said ‘thank you.’ He’d said it the first time they’d touched, too, when Hank agreed to try tugging the wires inside Connor’s chest, just the way he liked.

 

Hank's neck flushed at the swell of emotion that memory brought up, and he looked away, taking the reading glasses from his collar and slipping them on to disguise the effect of Connor's smile on his composure.

 

“Alright alright,” Hank said, shuffling over to the tub on his already aching knees. “Open ‘er up then.” 

 

Connor ran a hand over his groin, his skin peeling away to reveal the stark white of his chassis. A panel slid open at Connor's touch, revealing curls and loops of wires lit by steadily pumping blue thirium. 

 

God, the things Hank did to get laid. 

 

He set to work immediately, but it wasn't going to be a fast job. He had to tease out the wires that ran in feedback loops through Connor's system, detaching them and pulling them out of Connor's body so they hung there like little limp flower stems. The effect proved surreal as Hank found the corresponding ports at the base of Connor's new dick and prayed he could hook them up the right way. There were 38 of them, total, and the wires had to be inserted in a very particular order. 

 

The first few were the complicated ones, motor control, thirium feeds, tiny ports to hook Connor’s power source to the damn cum pump in those rubbery, fake testicles. But as Hank went on, attaching each in turn, he fell into a kind of rhythm, enjoying the satisfying click every time a wire connected to its proper port, and he let his concentration waver just a little.

 

“So why a dick, anyway?” Hank asked as he set about his task. “You know I would’ve been happy with a vagina too. Whatever you wanted, really.”

 

Connor shrugged, his fingertips reaching to play with the hair poking out of Hank's ponytail. “Like I said, I  _ like _ your penis. I wanted one of my own.” He paused, considering. “Tabs makes vaginas too, though. We could switch them out sometimes if you'd like.” Hank looked up for a moment, meeting Connor's softly smiling eyes.

 

“Sounds nice,” Hank admitted. “Lucky you, getting the whole range of options.”

 

“I am lucky,” Connor said softly, tucking a strand of loose hair behind Hank's ear. Somehow, like in Tabs’ office earlier, Hank didn't think Connor was talking about his choice in genitals.

 

“Alright now, don't get sappy on me.”

 

“You like it when I’m sappy.”

 

“I like it when you’re quiet,” Hank mumbled. Connor laughed, something sweet and musical.

 

“Liar,” he said.

 

With a little huff, Hank shook his head, unable to contain his own smile. Connor always caught him out like this. “Alright, babe, I'm getting to the synthetic nerves now, so you might start feeling … something? Let me know if you need me to stop or whatever.”

 

“I’ll be fine,” Connor said, shifting a little to make himself more comfortable. The hard linoleum was doing a number on Hank’s knees, so he could only imagine Connor’s ass would be numb by now, sitting as long as he had been.  _ If _ androids got numb. A question for another day, Hank supposed.

 

Holding Connor’s cock -- god that was a weird thought -- steady in one hand, Hank turned his attention back to the wires. Only seven remained, each connected to Connor’s sensitive nervous system. Hank’s rough hands weren’t made for delicate work like this, but he took a deep breath and went for it anyway, slipping the first wire into its port with a little click. 

 

Connor's whole body gave an immediate shudder and Hank risked a glance up at him. Those sweet brown eyes widened in something like surprise and Connor’s fingers curled on the edge of the tub.

 

“Oh,” Connor said, casual as could be. “Interesting.”

 

“Good interesting?” Hank asked, keeping his grip loose on the dick just in case he accidentally made it worse. Or better.

 

“Just… interesting,” Connor said, but there was a definite strained note to his voice. Hank’s lips quirked and he turned back to his task.

 

Before Connor could second guess anything, Hank moved onto the next wire, then the next, noticing after the fourth that Connor's hand was now clenched into a fist, some white of his chassis showing through his knuckles.  _ That _ was new.

 

“You good?” Hank asked, holding Connor's penis upright as his fingers hovered over the next wire. 

 

“Mmhmm,” Connor hummed, tense and high-pitched. Hank grinned. 

 

“Feel good?”

 

“Hank, please,” Connor eked out, distress tugging at his brows. “You only have three left. Don't  _ stop _ .”

 

Desperate to tease Connor just a little, if only for payback, Hank toyed with the next wire for a moment, examining its port. He ran his thumb over it, skin catching on the little silver hitch where it would click in. A noise rose in the back of Connor's throat, like a choked-off whimper. 

 

“H…  _ Hank _ .”

 

“Okay, okay, just a little patience, Con.” Hank slipped the wire into its port with a hearty click, and Connor gasped, his head thunking back against the tile. 

 

“The next one, please,” Connor whispered, and Hank swallowed, admittedly hardening a little himself at the tone of Connor's voice. If he went back in time and told his 15-year-old self that someday he'd get turned on installing his mechanical boyfriend's cock -- well, if he were being honest, his 15-year-old self was into some weird shit. He probably wouldn't have been surprised.

 

Hank secured the second to last wire and Connor groaned, hips jerking. “Calm down, cowboy,” Hank said, holding Connor's hip down with his free hand while Connor stared at him wide-eyed and panting. “Not done yet.”

 

“One left?” Connor's voice came out like a mouse’s squeak. 

 

“One left,” Hank said, rubbing a soothing circle against Connor's skin with his thumb. “Now, listen, this might feel kinda weird at first. Might be scary. But I promise it'll feel good, too. Just gotta ride it out, alright?”

 

Connor blinked desperately at him and nodded. That might've been the extent of Connor's ability to communicate at the moment. Though it was still only connected by wires, the cock felt hard and heavy in Hank's hand, warm as he'd expect a human cock to feel. With Connor's skin over it, he might even grow to forget it was mechanical at all.

 

Except, well, he likely couldn't forget  _ this _ . “Here goes,” he said, preparing himself as much as Connor. He took up the final wire, held the cock steady in his other hand, and made that final connection. 

 

Connor  _ screamed _ . Hank should have been prepared for that -- Tabs  _ had _ warned them -- but Connor's voice echoed off the bathroom walls, a strangled cry resonating in every octave at once, garbled and broken with a crackle of static as Connor jerked in Hank's hold and came, slamming a fist on the edge of the tub with a sound like a gunshot as the porcelain shattered.

 

White spurted from the head of his white cock like a geyser, splattering the faucet and the wall, flecks hitting Connor's chest and thighs, droplets hitting  _ Hank _ , even as he ducked out of the way and raised up an arm to shield himself.

 

“Fuck!” He shouted. “Con, babe, you okay?”

 

Connor gasped and sputtered, writhing in the tub, and in a moment his hands shoved Hank's out of the way so he could take hold of himself.

 

In a confused haze between turned on and mildly horrified, Hank watched as the wires at Connor's groin retracted, the cock clicked into place against Connor's chassis, and Connor's pale peach skin inched over the member, leaving it flushed and freckled and as realistic as Hank could ever have hoped or expected.

 

And, of course, fucking  _ huge _ .

 

Connor slumped back against the tub, and Hank settled back on his heels, dumbfounded. The lenses of his glasses were flecked with white, and an undeniable taste of pineapple seemed to have settled on his lips. Tongue flicking out, he licked at the corner of his mouth. 

 

“I'll be damned,” he said. “That actually does taste pretty good.”

 

“ _ Hank _ .”

 

Hank looked up to Connor, whose LED was swirling red, his eyes half-lidded, his lips parted and wet and bearing the fading imprint of his teeth. Hank’s grin spread wide over his face. “Sorry, sorry,” he said, not terribly sorry at all, shifting off his aching knees and wiping his wet hand on his pants. God there was cum everywhere. Thank goodness they’d decided to do this in the bathroom. He shuffled over to Connor, ignoring the massive crack in the side of the tub for now, and brought a hand to Connor’s chest to soothe him. “There,” he said softly, rubbing circles over Connor’s thirium pump regulator. Connor looked limp. “There, see, you’re alright. How’s it feel?”

 

“Is that --  _ that _ was an orgasm?” Connor asked, blinking up at Hank with wide pupils and a dumbfounded look. 

 

Hank glanced toward the mess Connor had left all over the tub, where cum trickled down the mustard tile, then back to Connor. “Sure as shit looked like one.”

 

“That’s what I’ve been doing to you for  _ six months _ ?”

 

Hank snorted, shrugging. “Well yeah. You knew it felt good.”

 

“Good!” Connor laughed, such an open and shameless expression as he closed his eyes and tilted his head back against the cool tile. That wide grin barely looked like it belonged on his face, but damn if it wasn’t the most beautiful thing Hank had ever seen. “ _ Good _ , Hank? That felt --” LED spinning, yellow now, Connor laid a limp hand over Hank’s, stilling him. “Can we do it again? Please? You  _ owe _ me.”

 

“That’s the idea,” Hank chuckled, leaning over the tub to lay a kiss on Connor’s cheek. “As many times as you want.”

 

“And you’ll let me fuck you tonight?” Connor asked. He shoved Hank away so he could look up at him through his eyelashes, and Hank’s whole body responded at once. Heartbeat quickening, breath sticking in his chest, and his cock giving an undeniable twitch of interest. He glanced down to the monster between Connor’s legs, and goddamnit -- it did look pretty fucking spectacular. 

 

“I’ll let you fuck me whenever you damn well please,” he said. Connor smiled, reaching up with both arms and tugging Hank down into a kiss. It was an awkward angle, Hank leaning over the tub, Connor threading his fingers through Hank’s hair and yanking out that ponytail, but the sloppy press of Connor’s lips against his own felt like the lazy kisses he gave Connor every time he came, too. This  _ would _ be a more equitable arrangement. 

 

They pulled apart, and Connor chuckled a little, tugging Hank’s beard. “I set my refractory period to thirty seconds,” Connor whispered against Hank’s lips. “So let’s save installing the rest for tomorrow and see what this thing can do.”

 

Hank stilled, swallowed, and, in spite of himself, smiled. “You really are going to kill me,” he whispered in return and Connor laughed, a fingertip stroking Hank’s cheek.

 

“But you’ll die with a smile on your face,” he said.

 

They kissed again, Hank leaning over to wrap one arm around Connor’s back, slipping his other under Connor’s knees. He kicked the dick’s empty box as he stood and hefted Connor into his arms, however laboriously, and he didn’t notice the card that spilled out onto the tile from under the tissue paper. In fact, he stepped right over it, abandoning the box and the mess and everything else until tomorrow -- a problem to face after he and Connor managed to pull themselves out of bed. 

 

But he would see that note eventually. And when he did, he’d only be able to laugh.

 

_ Every cock should be its own work of art _ , the card read in Tabs’ scrawling hand, _ and every work of art deserves a title. I hereby name this dick, my magnum opus, “Fuck da Police.” Have fun, boys. _

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you SO much for reading!!! I love you all! <3
> 
> If you feel like screaming at me about DBH or Star Trek or really anything else, come find me on Twitter [@AdmiralLiss](https://twitter.com/AdmiralLiss).


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